The deeper they ventured, the colder the air grew—not just cold in temperature, but cold in a way that gnawed at the spirit, that whispered of graves long forgotten.
Their footsteps sounded impossibly loud against the ancient stone, a drumbeat in the silence.
Kaen flexed his hand absently, feeling the lingering burn from where he had caught the Gatekeeper's chain. It throbbed, but it also hummed with a strange new energy—one he didn't fully understand yet.
"You sure you're alright?" Lira asked, glancing at him sideways. Her voice was low, but steady.
"I'll live," Kaen said, forcing a thin smile. "Besides, you're the one who threw a dagger into a ghost."
Lira snorted. "Well, excuse me for trying to help."
They shared a brief, tired grin. It was the first real one in what felt like hours.
The corridor ahead forked into two passages—one descending into a yawning abyss, the other climbing toward a distant, flickering light.
Kaen hesitated. The pendant against his chest pulsed faintly again, tugging him toward the downward path.
"We go down," he said quietly.
Lira didn't argue. She trusted him now, even if neither of them fully understood why.
They descended carefully, the air growing thicker, heavier, with every step. Strange glyphs lined the walls here too, but unlike before, these ones glowed—faint, red like dying coals. Kaen caught himself staring too long at one and had to physically shake his head to break free from its pull.
"You feel that?" Lira whispered.
"Yeah," Kaen breathed. "Like the walls are...watching."
They pressed on.
At the bottom of the stairs, the passage opened into a vast, circular chamber. In the center stood a massive stone dais, and upon it, something that made Kaen's heart stop.
A sword.
Or at least, what had once been a sword. Now it was a ruin—its blade cracked and blackened, its hilt wrapped in ancient, bloodstained cloth.
Even from a distance, Kaen could feel the thing calling to him.
"This feels like a trap," Lira muttered.
"It is," Kaen said grimly. "But we don't have a choice."
He stepped forward, and as he did, the chamber rumbled. Dust rained from the ceiling. From the shadows around the walls, shapes began to stir.
Figures.
They were armored, but wrong—too tall, too thin, faces hidden behind twisted iron masks. Their armor creaked and groaned as they moved, like corpses dragged back to life by hate alone.
Lira drew two daggers this time. "Tell me we're not fighting all of them."
Kaen's voice was rough, but steady. "No. Just buy me time."
Lira gave a short, humorless laugh. "Oh, great plan."
The first of the iron-clad sentinels lunged.
Kaen sprinted toward the dais, heart hammering in his chest. Behind him, Lira moved like lightning—dancing between blows, striking quick and hard, but even she couldn't hold them forever.
As Kaen reached the base of the dais, the sword shuddered. A voice filled his mind—not a whisper this time, but a roar.
"Who dares claim the Forsaken Blade?"
Kaen gritted his teeth. His blood felt like it was boiling. Every instinct screamed at him to turn back—but he refused.
"I am Kaen," he said aloud, voice cracking the silence. "Son of no house, heir to no crown. I claim nothing... but I will not bow."
The air itself seemed to recoil from his words.
The sentinels froze mid-attack.
The sword pulsed once—twice—then shattered into a million burning shards.
Kaen threw up his arms, but the explosion wasn't destructive—it was absorbed. The shards sank into his skin, into his bones, searing like liquid fire.
He screamed.
Lira fought free and ran to him. "Kaen!"
But before she could reach him, the ground cracked apart.
Kaen was falling—no, being pulled—into a darkness deeper than night.
The last thing he saw wa
s Lira's face, twisted in a scream he couldn't hear.
Then everything went black.