The cry tore through the chamber, raw and violent, filled with something that did not belong in a human throat. It echoed against the cracked stone, a sound too violent, too wrong. Her eyes had lost their pupils—now white as snow itself, blazing with unnatural light with veins of shadow pulsed beneath her skin like ink spilled in water.
From beneath her feet, a circle flared to life—lines of burning script twisting and shifting as if alive, as if resisting. The floor cracked around it, the stones hissing with heat. Glyphs spun and realigned in fragments, a circle fighting to break to barrier.
Casmir walked closer. "The girl is not yours to control"
But she was unfazed, glaring, harsh wind flickering from her skin. Her eyes glowing brighter.
"YOU'VE COME TO SEAL MY MOUTH," the voice echoed from her lips, layered and vast, "BUT YOU'VE LEFT THE HEART UNTOUCHED."
And the voice spoke truth. He had failed—failed to bring his blade to her chest. And he might regret it soon.
The floor beneath them cracked again. Dust fell from the ceiling. Runes along the wall flared, sputtering to life, then dying.
"THE FOUR SEALS STIRS," the voice hissed. "AND SHE IS THE GATE…"
Casmir's pulse pounded. "She is not a gate," he snarled. "she's a girl. A child."
The girl choked on air. Her scream broke again—only this time it came with light shattering the barrier.
A sudden surge of power hurled Casmir backward. He slammed against the stones but twisted mid-fall, springing back to his feet. Above the circle, she hovered—barely, just a breath above the ground. The seal beneath them shattered almost entirely, the altar fractured, weeping black smoke that twisted and merged into a growing portal.
"Fight it!" he shouted, his voice raw—almost desperate, clinging to the hope he wouldn't have to kill her.
She was weeping now, lips trembling. "I—I want to—" Her voice broke through for a heartbeat, fragile and real—then the darkness surged forward, drowning her out.
"SILENCE. SHE BELONGS TO THE DEEP."
Casmir stepped into the circle, ignoring the burning on his skin. The magic still lingered there—resisting him. The barrier wasn't holding. The gate was still opening. And a silver medallion wouldn't cage it.
He had one choice, one chance. It was the only way.
He drew the Sign of Release—the ancient glyph, forbidden even among the Saints. Then, from the blood on his palm, he overlaid it with the Mark of Binding—not to trap her, but to anchor her.
He reached out and grabbed her, pressing the mark to her chest.
It seared into her skin in lines of golden fire, and she screamed—not in pain, but in fury, a raw and defiant sound that shook the air. Her body convulsed, frozen in midair—then dropped like a stone into his arms.
The mark still glowed faintly over her chest, just above her heartbeat. The light in her eyes faded. She blinked. Tears slid down her cheeks.
"I couldn't stop it," she whispered.
"You did," Casmir said, holding her close. "You're here. With me."
"But the gate—" Her head lolled to the side. "It's still waking."
He looked down.
She was right.
Beneath them, the altar was no longer sealed. The center had split. From the heart of the wound, a black shape began to rise—slowly, deliberately. Not a god. Not yet. But a part of one. A shard of will. A fragment of the Eater.
The chamber shook.
A groan echoed through the castle—ancient stone protesting the return of something never meant to rise.
The girl stirred in his arms.
"They're coming," she said. "The big ones"
"I know," Casmir whispered. He stood, cradling her in one arm, blade in the other.
The altar flared brighter beneath him. Even from above, he could see it clearly—like it was calling to him, like it wanted to be seen, by him.
Dust rained from above. The ceiling cracked. Voices echoed from the walls. Not laughter now—chanting. Forgotten priests, still singing to the deep.
He turned to the far passage. They were still inside. Still trapped. But her mark shone like a star against her chest.
He set his jaw, lifted her higher. And walked toward the last hallway. Toward the only exit.
Beneath him, the gate cracked wider—and the castle exhaled.
Stone crumbled above them. Chunks of ceiling thundered down in their wake. Casmir shielded the girl with his body as they ducked beneath a falling beam, then surged down the winding corridor.
Beneath them, the smoke gate forged wider.
Each step sent tremors through the floor. The walls pulsed like veins, flickering with veins of dark light. The castle was collapsing—but it wasn't dying quietly. It was fighting for every breath.
"SHE IS OURS" the voice raged beneath them, from the altar.
The girl stirred in his arms.
"Don't listen," Casmir whispered. "That voice isn't yours."
But she was trembling. The mark beneath her collarbone still glowed faintly—now pale, as if bleeding light instead of holding it. He didn't have time to question it; this was a ritual whose consequences he already knew too well.
The hall ahead split.
The left path led up—a ruined stairway—but half-collapsed. The right, deeper into the crypts, the long way out.
"Up," Casmir muttered. "Always up."
They ascended.
Each step was agony—his legs burning, lungs tearing against the smoke. He'd poured too much into the seal. He could feel his magic thinning, his veins raw with the effort of binding her soul.
The mark had worked. But it had cost him.
As they neared the surface, the voices returned—not from beneath. From ahead.
Wraiths.
They poured from the ceiling like liquid shadow, human-shaped but not human—twisted remnants of those who had lived, died, and been devoured by the castle's hunger.
Their mouths opened.
Screams echoed without sound.
Casmir stepped over the threshold and screamed back—a Sign of Flame erupting from his palm, carving the stairwell in light. Fire washed across the wraiths, scattering them in bursts of ash.
The light flickered. Then died.
His well was nearly empty.
"I can walk," the girl whispered.
He looked down. She was pale, shaking—but her eyes were her own again.
"I can," she repeated.
He hesitated—then lowered her gently to her feet. She staggered, but remained upright.
Casmir conjured a flickering flame atop a stick and handed it to the girl. "Keep it burning, and stay close."
She nodded, grabbed his arm and led the way.
They moved together now—stumbling, dodging falling beams and slabs of stone. Through the shattered remnants of the keep, down a corridor lined with broken statues.
And then—they reached it.
The final exit.
An arched door, split but still standing. Beyond it was moonlight, cold air, freedom.
Casmir pushed against the door—but it didn't move.
Behind them, the castle roared.
The girl placed a hand on the mark still glowing over her heart. Her eyes fluttered shut.
A whisper slipped from her lips. Words in the old tongue. Not the corrupted version she had spoken before—but something truer. Something older.
The arch screamed. Then broke.
The doors blasted open with a gust of bitter wind, and Casmir pulled her through.
They tumbled out into the snow-drenched clearing, the ruined castle silhouetted behind them, shuddering like a dying beast.
Then— A final groan erupted and a massive collapse took place.
Stone crumbled. Towers fractured. The central altar—where the gate had once been sealed—shuddered with its breaking, and the smoky portal faded, just in time, as an even more terrifying beast loomed, ready to step through.
Dust and ash spiraled into the sky like a column of smoke. Then came silence.
They lay in the snow, gasping for breath. Casmir turned toward the girl. Her mark no longer glowed—but a thin wisp of smoke still curled from it. He had sealed her soul to his. She wasn't strong enough to fight the darkness—at least, not yet—but he was. He would shelter it within, for he could resist its control.
"That spell you muttered—it stopped the gate," he said. She nodded weakly. "It came naturally, as though I had always known how."
He stared at her.
The snow began to fall. Behind them, the last remnants of the castle sank into the ground like a corpse returning to the soil.
The gate was closed, but still remained.
Casmir could still feel the breach—thin as a whisper—beneath them.
And the prophecy echoed again in his mind.
"Four seals stir, and she is the gate."
He closed his eyes. This wasn't over. Not even close.